


covid america

by Kalya_Lee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Coronavirus, Gen, Humour, Pandemic - Freeform, Politics, Twitter, bucky barnes is done with All This (tm), sourdough starters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalya_Lee/pseuds/Kalya_Lee
Summary: “What,” says Steve, picking the Winter Soldier’s mask up off his left thigh, “the hell is this?”“It’s proper PPE, Steve,” says Bucky.In which Steve tries to punch the coronavirus, and Bucky makes a sourdough starter.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Comments: 26
Kudos: 64





	covid america

It is the first week of May and Bucky is going _insane_.

It’s not the being stuck indoors; being stuck indoors is fine. The brownstone’s got huge windows and gorgeous hardwood floors and a couch Bucky’d actually picked out himself, years ago, four days after showing up at Steve’s front door with a week’s worth of stubble and two knives in his left boot and his hands laced behind his head. He doesn’t really remember much about those first days; they’re blurry in his memory, a soft haze of fear and confusion and unexpected warmth, but he does remember getting up suddenly on morning four and standing in Steve’s doorway, gripping the doorframe so hard his left hand made fingerprint dents in the wood. Looking Steve right in the eye, right in the eye for the first time since 1945, and swallowing hard, and saying _Steven, you need to do something about that monstrosity in your living room, I’m recovering from trauma here and I ain’t doing it on_ that.

Bucky really likes that couch. He’s always wanted to spend more quality time with it.

So indoors is okay. He’s got his couch and his books and his tiny front yard, and a big bright kitchen with the really good oven that he’d made Steve install after he realised that the old one had broken and Steve hadn’t _done anything about it_ , call the man a role model, _honestly_. His sourdough starter’s coming along great and they’re at least three weeks away from running out of flour, even though Bucky’s been baking two loaves a day because Steve seems to store three meals’ worth of carbs in his cheeks at one go like some kind of massive blond squirrel, and Bucky did not emerge from seventy years of torture into this brave new world so he could learn to share. Bucky bakes and eats and reads and sharpens his knife collection (now primarily used for cooking) while watching the stupidest movies on Netflix, and sometimes he goes out to the yard and pulls up a weed or something, checks on his tomato plants, tips his head up to the sun. It’s really alright; it’s actually kind of nice. A quiet life, but Bucky’s earned a little quiet. He sort of likes it, staying inside. It’s really not too bad.

The problem is not indoors. The problem is indoors with _Steve_.

_Steve_ does not bake. _Steve_ does not weed. Steve does not know how to tend a tomato plant, nor does he care to learn. Steve does not read, despite or possibly because of the full bookshelves Bucky’d spotted the very first day he’d moved in, sad standing bookcases from IKEA stuffed with history books and copies of _iPhone for Dummies_ and biographies of extremely boring and probably pretty racist famous people like some sort of elaborate and horrible punishment. Bucky had, in a great show of generosity, offered up his own collection of sci-fi paperbacks and young adult supernatural romances, but Steve does not appear to be reading those either. Steve does not think that there is anything good on Netflix, or on Amazon Prime, or on television. Steve sits on Bucky’s excellent couch and eats Bucky’s excellent bread and _mopes_.

It is _annoying_. It is _so annoying_. It has been _weeks_ and it has been _constant_ and Bucky is _so over it_.

“Steve,” says Bucky. “Stevie.”

“Hm?” says Steve. He’s got a slice of fresh pumpernickel in his hand and he’s staring down at it like it’s an adorable stray puppy that bit him when he tried to pet it.

The bread is perfectly buttered. Steve takes a bite, and suffers.

“Steve,” says Bucky, “go outside.”

“What?” says Steve. “No!”

He takes another bite of bread. He sighs. He looks up at Bucky, his big blue eyes gone wide and sad and appealing. Appealing for _what_ Bucky doesn’t know, and he isn’t that interested in finding out. He’s not sure what more Steve could possibly want from him. That pumpernickel took three hours to make.

“I _couldn’t_ ,” says Steve, turning back to his bread like he knows it’ll be a more sympathetic audience. “I _can’t._ It would be _irresponsible._ ”

He eats the last bite of his bread. He sighs, again. He is a saint and a martyr. For fuck’s sake.

“You are _immune_ ,” says Bucky. He digs his hands into his new batch of dough; it squeaks a little, in distress. “You are _immune_ to the _fucking virus_ , Steven. You _cannot get it_. You _cannot spread it_. Stark sent you the lab results _yesterday_.”

“Yeah,” says Steve, “but the _example_.”

Bucky punches the dough so hard he makes a little dent in the kitchen island.

“I’m a role model, Buck,” says Steve, righteously. “I gotta – I gotta be careful of what kind of message I’m sending. With my actions.”

“If I beat you to death with a potato masher,” says Bucky, “what kind of message would that send, do you think?”

“Hm,” says Steve.

“Captain America Brutally Murdered By Winter Soldier,” says Bucky. “In Suspected Secret Gay Tryst. Bucky Barnes Traitor All Along.”

“Aw, Buck, you wouldn’t,” says Steve. “You’re my friend. You’re with me to the end of the – ”

“Captain America Suffocated With Loaf Of Sourdough,” says Bucky. “Captain America Fatally Bludgeoned With Biography Of Newt Gingrich.”

“You know,” says Steve, “you’re really very cranky today, Bucky. I think the quarantine is starting to get to you.”

Bucky turns and walks out of the room.

He returns seven minutes later with something small and black from the bottom of his closet. He drops it in Steve’s lap as he walks by the couch. He does not throw it at Steve’s head; he and his therapist have been talking a lot about impulse control lately, and he thinks he’s been seeing some real progress.

Steve looks down. Steve looks up. Steve looks at Bucky.

“What,” says Steve, picking the Winter Soldier’s mask up off his left thigh, “the hell is this?”

“It’s proper PPE, Steve,” says Bucky. “Now get out of my house.”

***

**bucky barnes is baking** @buckybarnes  
check out my new sourdough starter! i’m calling it steve because it spends all its time lying around and demanding to be fed pic.twitter.com/ghitbOIbaivbHG

**Tony Snark** @TonyStark   
@buckybarnes   
please it’s pasty and feral and you keep taking it in and out of the fridge

**Tony Snark** @TonyStark  
@buckybarnes   
it’s definitely more of a You

**Tony Snark** @TonyStark  
@buckybarnes   
sorry, too soon?

**bucky barnes is baking** @buckybarnes  
check out my new sourdough starter! i’m calling it stark because most of it belongs in the trash

***

“Steve,” says Bucky, in the slow careful tone that always makes him feel like he’s channelling Sam Wilson Sadly Surveying Your Poor Life Choices every time he uses it, “are you okay?” 

“Mmgrlph,” says Steve, from the couch.

Bucky takes a step closer. He pokes Steve once, mostly gently, in the shoulder.

“Steve,” says Bucky. “Stevie.”

“Flrmpgh,” says Steve. It is possible that he’s saying something else, though the fact that he’s mostly saying it to the couch cushions is making it kind of hard to tell.

“Steve,” says Bucky, “you’ve been lying facedown on the couch for an hour.”

“Mrrrg,” says Steve.

“I, too,” says Bucky, “would like to sit on this couch. At some point.”

“Hmmpg,” says Steve.

“It’s my couch,” says Bucky.

Steve says nothing for a long moment, then makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like _whaddayagonnadoabouddit._

Bucky glares. Steve ignores it. He huffs loudly into the cushions. It is a sad, sad sound.

“Fine,” says Bucky, and sits on him.

One thing that most people do not know about Captain America is that he screams like a – well, Bucky would say _like a little girl_ except for the fact that he has (had? has) three sisters, and while his memories are still about as reliable as a tip from one of those cute stock-picking cats they apparently have now in the future, he is pretty sure that none of them had ever, once, _ever_ screamed like Steve. Steve screams like a Land Rover swerving to avoid a deer on an icy road. Steve screams like a pig hooked up to an amplifier. Steve screams like the embodiment of truth, justice, and righteous indignation demanding to speak to the manager. It is objectively very horrible. It is definitely one of Bucky’s personal favourite sounds, of all time.

He takes a moment to enjoy it. Steve takes a moment to flip them both off the couch and plant his knees on Bucky’s forearms.

“I won’t fight you, Buck,” says Steve. His eyes are very wide and very, very blue. “You’re my friend.”

“You’re a _jackass_ ,” says Bucky.

“Aw,” says Steve, “shucks.”

He looks down at Bucky and grins. Bucky does not grin back. 

“Get off,” says Bucky, “or I will _bite_ you.”

“Well, Buck, it is the twenty-first century,” says Steve. “I hear that kinda thing’s a-okay now.”

Bucky narrows his eyes.

Three minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Bucky has reclaimed his share of the couch and, also, a mug of chocolate milk. He takes a sip; it’s nice. Very creamy. On the other end of the couch Steve prods at the bite mark on his thigh and winces.

“You wanna talk about it?” says Bucky.

“What’s to talk about?” says Steve. “You bit me!”

“You had it coming,” says Bucky. “Also: not that.”

“Hmph,” says Steve.

“Steven,” says Bucky.

Steve sighs. It is a very beleaguered sigh, heavy with the weight of moral responsibility. It is the sort of sigh that Atlas would have sighed, had he actually existed and also been the human equivalent of a golden retriever. And American.

“It’s nothing,” says Steve. “I was just, y’know. Tired.”

“Tired,” says Bucky.

“I joined a couple of mutual aid groups,” says Steve. “It just got a little busy, is all.”

“How many,” says Bucky. “How many mutual aid groups.”

“A couple,” says Steve.

“All of them,” says Bucky, “didn’t you. You joined every mutual aid group in New York.”

“Well, not the ones in Manhattan,” says Steve. “I figured Stark could take care of those.”

Bucky puts a hand over his face. The metal one: it seems like that sort of a day.

“Gee,” says Steve, “d’you think we’ve still got any bread?”

***

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
steve is grounded now pick up your own damn groceries

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
update: steve says we “should look out for one another” because we “live in a society”. i say he should get his own fucking twitter account

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
i swear this man makes me miss cryogenic storage

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
that was a joke btw. @wilsonst u can stand down.

**the FALCON** @wilsonst  
@buckybarnes   
remember those positive thought patterns we talked about!! remember theres no sourdough in hydra!!!

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
@wilsonst   
ha fuckin ha

**the FALCON** @wilsonst  
@buckybarnes   
self care, barnes!!! self care!!!

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
@wilsonst   
>:(

**the FALCON** @wilsonst  
@buckybarnes   
:)

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
@wilsonst   
UGH

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
also whoever the fuck put those racist-ass tweets on my timeline you should be aware that steve is reading them over my shoulder

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
i think smoke is coming out of his ears

**steve rogers’s handler** @buckybarnes  
update: steve is no longer grounded

**the FALCON** @wilsonst  
@buckybarnes   
oh ho ho HO

***

“He’s,” says Steve, “he’s! He’s an imbecile!”

“Yeah,” says Bucky.

“He’s a greedy, narcissistic lunatic!” says Steve. “He’s a – an _insult_ , an _affront_ to the _office_ of the _President_ –”

“Yep,” says Bucky.

“He’s _insane,”_ breathes Steve. He slumps back into the couch, trembling with righteous rage. His eyes are glued to the television the way a raccoon’s are to the oncoming headlights. “He’s gone _completely insane_.”

“I’m insane,” says Bucky, and turns a page.

He’s reading the new Hunger Games prequel. It’s pretty good, though the new cast takes a little warming up to. Bucky is very attached to Peeta.

“Not like _that_ ,” says Steve. “You know what I mean.”

“Inclusive language is always helpful, Steven,” says Bucky.

“Sorry,” says Steve. “Fine. He’s not insane, he’s just _evil_.”

“He’s probably a little insane,” allows Bucky.

“And evil,” says Steve. “ _Evil_.”

“Mm,” says Bucky.

“I don’t _understand_ ,” says Steve. “How could this have _happened_?”

“I dunno, Steve,” says Bucky. “2016 was kind of a blur, to me.”

He turns another page. Steve lets out a sound like their old radiator in the winter.

“I hate him,” says Steve. “I _hate_ him.”

“I gathered,” says Bucky.

“I cannot _believe_ we _voted_ for him,” says Steve. He has his hands fisted in his hair; he’d probably have ripped some of it out already, if it wasn’t Super Hair. There but for the grace of Stark, etc, etc. “I cannot _believe_ that the _American people_ –”

“The American people who were secretly ruled by Nazis for seventy years and no one even noticed because it felt really normal?” says Bucky. “That American people?”

Steve grinds his jaw so hard Bucky can hear his teeth squeak. Super Teeth. Go figure.

Bucky sighs and puts his book down.

“What do you want me to do, Steve?” says Bucky. “You want me to kill him for you?”

Steve stares. His jaw works.

“You want me to kill the President, Steve?” says Bucky. “I can kill the President. I’ve done it before, how hard could it be.”

Steve’s mouth drops open.

“Did you,” says Steve, “did you just. Did you just make a grassy knoll joke?”

“Desperate times,” says Bucky, shrugging, “desperate measures.”

“Oh my God,” says Steve, “oh my God, _you killed JFK_.”

“I mean, that wasn’t really me,” says Bucky. “As you keep saying. Wasn’t even in line with my, like, political beliefs. I feel like I’m owed one, really.”

“Sometimes,” says Steve, looking vaguely ill, “you know, sometimes I kinda, I kinda forget.”

“Well,” says Bucky, “good for some.”

“Sorry, Buck,” says Steve.

“Eh,” says Bucky, and picks his book back up.

They sit in silence for a long moment. Well, relative silence; the TV’s still on, for some fucking reason. At least Bucky kind of likes Fareed Zakaria.

“So,” says Steve, at length.

Bucky glances up at Steve. Steve gives him a shifty look.

“I’m not going to kill the President, Stevie,” says Bucky.

“Of course not,” says Steve. “I would never even suggest such a thing.”

“Right,” says Bucky.

“That would be bad,” says Steve. “That would be – treason.”

“And neither of us has ever committed treason,” says Bucky.

“Well,” says Steve, “we don’t _anymore_.”

“Sure,” says Bucky.

Steve sighs. He crosses his arms. He fidgets, just a little. He’s trying so hard not to look sulky that he’ll probably break out in hives. It really isn’t working.

“Steve,” says Bucky.

“It’s just a nice idea,” says Steve, “is all.”

“Mmhm,” says Bucky, and turns off the television.

***

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
 _This Tweet is unavailable._

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
 _This Tweet is unavailable._

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
 _This Tweet is unavailable._

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
GET YOUR OWN DAMN TWITTER, STEVEN!!!

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
for those of you who were lucky enough to miss mr rogers’s civics lesson, tldr: stay inside, save lives, and if i see one more of you racist fucks making comparisons to fucking SLAVERY i will END YOUR MISERABLE EXISTENCE

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
that last one wasn’t steve btw, that was from me, james buchanan “mass murderer” barnes

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
38 confirmed kills AND COUNTING, btw

**the FALCON** @wilsonst  
@buckybarnes  
barnes

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
@wilsonst  
samuel

**nat** @rushman42069  
@buckybarnes  
r u ok

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
@rushman42069  
sure just fine why do i sound perhaps slightly unhinged

**nat** @rushman42069  
@buckybarnes  
check your island

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
@rushman42069  
…

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
@rushman42069  
NATALIA <3 <3 <3

**nat** @rushman42069  
@buckybarnes  
: )

**the FALCON** @wilsonst  
@buckybarnes  
wtf man why is your island covered in spiders

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
@wilsonst  
it’s ok they’re valuable

**Tony Snark** @TonyStark  
@wilsonst @buckybarnes  
excuse me, your WHERE is covered in WHAT????????

**THE WINTER SOLDIER** @buckybarnes  
@wilsonst @TonyStark  
it’s a video game, stark

**Tony Snark** @TonyStark  
@wilsonst @buckybarnes  
it’s UNSANITARY!!!!!!!!

**nat** @rushman42069  
@wilsonst @buckybarnes @TonySnark  
ur unsanitary

**Tony Snark** @TonyStark  
@wilsonst @buckybarnes @rushman42069  
that’s IT you are BANNED from TWITTER i am DOING IT NOW

**nat** @rushman42069  
@wilsonst @buckybarnes @TonySnark  
;) try it i dare you

**the FALCON** @wilsonst  
@buckybarnes @TonySnark @rushman42069  
untag me from this please. right NOW thank you

***

“Steven Grant Rogers,” says Bucky, “what the _fuck_.”

“I can explain,” says Steve.

Bucky believes him. Bucky is _sure_ that Steve can explain. Bucky is _absolutely certain_ that Steve can explain why he, Bucky Barnes, has been interrupted halfway through shaping a loaf of honey oat sourdough by a phone call from the _local police department_ asking him if he could _please_ _come down_ at his _earliest possible convenience_ and _bail out Captain America_. He is _totally convinced_ that there does, in fact, exist a reasonable explanation for why he is now standing in front of a bank of holding cells, in the _middle of a_ _pandemic_ , watching Steve’s black eye fade back to pasty-white in real time. For sure, there must be something that Steve “oh whoops I crashed an entire government agency into the Potomac, wonder how _that_ happened” Rogers could possibly say that would be both informative and satisfying, at this moment.

Bucky can feel a vein pop, right there in his forehead. Fine, whatever. What does he care. He clearly already has a permanent pain in his ass, anyway; let the Supersoldier Serum try and fix _that_.

“Think you could dial back on the resting murderface, Buck?” asks Steve, all wide-eyed innocence and patriotic jaw. Well, one eye’s wide; the other one is still a little swollen. “You’re kinda scaring my cellmate.”

“This murder face is not resting,” says Bucky. “This murder face is both active and full of intention.”

The aforementioned cellmate presses themselves further into the far wall. Their face betrays an intense desire to transform, if at all possible, into a cinderblock. Or perhaps a bit of mortar. Or basically anything existing within any other piece of spacetime. Bucky glances at them and feels a rush of solidarity, even if he wouldn’t be caught dead in that pair of orange shorts.

“Uh,” says the cellmate.

“Don’t worry,” says Steve, encouragingly, “he doesn’t do that anymore.”

“Right,” says the cellmate. “Okay.”

“I promise,” says Steve. “You can trust me. I’m Captain America.”

“I noticed,” says the cellmate. “Uh. Sir.”

“I shot him once,” says Bucky. “Well, three times.”

“Bucky,” says Steve.

“Those were good times,” says Bucky, wistfully, “I miss them.”

“You were being tortured and controlled by a terrorist organisation,” says Steve.

“Yeah,” says Bucky, “but at least I wasn’t bailing you out of jail.”

“You’re not bailing me out of jail now,” says Steve.

“Should I,” says the cellmate, “uh, should I leave you two alone?” 

“No thanks,” says Bucky. “I am alone with this particular star-spangled dumpster fire _quite enough_.”

“Oh,” says the cellmate.

“The booking officer’s desk is behind you,” says Steve, a little desperately.

“Give me one good reason why I should give a shit,” says Bucky.

The cellmate is now pressed so far into their corner that they’re probably halfway to digging a tunnel to freedom. Bucky sighs, and dials back on the murderface. Just a little, though; under protest.

“Because after you shot me three times and sparked off an international manhunt,” says Steve, “I took you in, fist-fought my way through four separate intelligence agencies, and let you deprogram yourself by baking cookies and sleeping on my couch?”

“Oh sure,” says Bucky. “Fight dirty.”

“They were good cookies,” concedes Steve.

“ _Ugh_ ,” says Bucky.

He goes to find the booking officer.

He returns ten minutes and a flash of Tony Stark’s disconcertingly shiny black AmEx later with said officer, her frankly impressive set of keys, and a migraine headache. He stands by the cell door with his arms crossed and waits; Steve smiles up at him, beatific. The former cellmate is rapidly achieving oneness with the cell’s single metal bench.

Bucky looks at Steve. Bucky looks at the cellmate. Bucky sighs.

“How much for the kid,” says Bucky.

“What?” says the booking officer.

“I said how much for this child in the orange shorts,” says Bucky, gritting his teeth. “What are you even holding them for, anyway?"

“Drunk and disorderly,” says the officer.

“Seriously?” says Bucky.

“I wasn’t drunk,” says the child in the orange shorts. “I was just – discomposed.”

“ _Discomposed_ ,” says Bucky.

“Uh,” says orange-shorts-child.

“Murderface,” murmurs Steve, in Bucky’s ear.

“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” says Bucky.

“Gentlemen,” says the officer.

Bucky takes a deep breath. He shuts his eyes. He counts to ten. He thinks of how terrible it would be if he got arrested – if Steve got re-arrested – if _he_ got _arrested_ here in this police station for _putting Captain America in a headlock_ and _wrestling him to the ground_. He thinks about it, very hard.

He thinks about it _some more_.

“Look,” says Bucky, “we are in the middle of a plague. You are aware of this, right? Officer, please tell me that you are aware.”

“Sir,” says the officer. A muscle in her cheek twitches.

“Do you really think you should be holding people in enclosed spaces like this?” says Bucky. “Together? In _cells_? Aren’t you worried about contagion? About, I don’t know, kicking off the zombie apocalypse?”

“Not really, no,” says the officer.

Bucky looks at Steve. Steve shrugs.

Bucky exhales.

“Fine,” says Bucky. “Whatever. I would also like to bail out patient zero over there. Please. If you don’t mind. Officer.”

“Sure thing,” says the officer.

“Wow,” says the kid, “thanks, man.”

“No problem,” says Bucky. “Please don’t mention it.”

“Okay,” says the kid.

“Sell the story to TMZ and I will kill you,” says Bucky.

“ _Bucky_ ,” sighs Steve.

“Um,” says the kid. “Noted.”

Bucky looks at the kid. Bucky looks at Steve. Bucky clamps his jaw shut, hard, and goes to pay the damn bail.

They’re nearly all the way out of the police station before Bucky stops feeling like his eyeballs are about to punch their way out of his skull. His brain still feels somewhat bomb-adjacent, but at least now it’s a lot closer to “grenade with slightly wobbly pin” than to “molotov cocktail on the downward half of the parabola”. Bucky sighs and rubs at his forehead.

His therapist keeps saying that he needs to start using metaphors that are lighter on the violence. At least now Bucky has some idea of what she’s talking about. Silver linings, etc.

“You okay there, Buck?” says Steve. His black eye is almost completely gone.

“Will you please,” says Bucky.

“Sorry,” says Steve. He is not sorry. He is not sorry even a little bit. He does a little hop-skip over a crack in the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets. Bucky hates him, so much.

“Do I even want to know,” says Bucky.

“Well,” says Steve, “that depends. Do we have the kind of relationship in which we can both be open and honest with one another? Are we reaching, nay, striving, for that level of emotional intimacy?”

“Steven,” says Bucky.

“Okay, fine,” says Steve, like he’s doing some kind of public service, like holding the elevator for some old lady, or personally piloting Air Force One. “There was a protest going on at City Hall, and I went down to try and, you know, defuse the situation. With reason. And logic.”

“Reason,” says Bucky. “Logic.”

“I was gonna use the Cap voice,” says Steve, a little sulkily. “It could’ve worked.”

“Uh huh,” says Bucky.

“Then I got into sort of,” says Steve, “sort of an altercation.”

“An altercation,” says Bucky.

“Gosh,” says Steve, “is there an echo around here?”

“You punched someone at a protest?” says Bucky. “What is this, 1925?”

“I was seven in 1925,” says Steve.

“You were punching people at seven,” says Bucky. “Don’t try and bullshit me. I remember.”

“Aw, Buck!” says Steve. “Progress!”

“Fuck you,” says Bucky.

“Language,” says Steve, sidestepping neatly to avoid Bucky’s elbow. “It wasn’t my fault! The guy had a Nazi sign!”

Bucky stops walking.

“A what,” says Bucky.

“A Nazi sign, Buck,” says Steve. His eyes have gone _huge_. They are what Sam once referred to as _anime eyes_. They gleam with triumph, and Bucky wants to die. It’s true. Steve’s got him. “At the protest. It had, you know, the slogan.”

“Heil Hitler?” says Bucky.

“No, the other one,” says Steve. “On the, you know, the gate. Work makes you free.”

Bucky’s left eye twitches, just a little.

“I hate this,” says Bucky. “I want you to know that. I hate this and I hate you.”

“They were _congregating_ , Bucky,” says Steve. “In _large numbers_. Without _masks_ on. With _signs_.”

“I _hate_ you,” says Bucky.

“They’re probably still there,” says Steve, helpfully.

Bucky covers his face with his hands. He takes a deep breath in. He takes a deep breath out.

He drops his hands. Steve looks at him, expectantly.

“Fuck,” says Bucky, “ _fuck_. Fuck! Fucking _fine._ ”

***

**done** @buckybarnes  
@TonyStark   
pick up your phone

**done** @buckybarnes  
@TonyStark   
pick up your phone

**done** @buckybarnes  
@TonyStark   
pick up your phone

**done** @buckybarnes  
@TonyStark   
pick it UP, stark

**JARVIS** @JARVIS  
@buckybarnes  
My apologies, Sergeant Barnes, but I have been instructed to hold all of Sir’s calls for the next few hours. He is currently testing several prototypes and we have run out of lab floors to set on fire.

**done** @buckybarnes  
@JARVIS  
i see and i sympathise, pal, but this is kind of an urgent situation

**JARVIS** @JARVIS  
@buckybarnes  
Of course, Sergeant Barnes. If you would like to give me a message I will be sure to relay it to Sir as quickly as possible.

**done** @buckybarnes  
@JARVIS  
ok so long story short steve and i need bail

**done** @buckybarnes  
@JARVIS  
…

**done** @buckybarnes  
@JARVIS  
jarvis?

**Tony Snark** @TonyStark  
@JARVIS @buckybarnes  
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

***

“Okay,” says Bucky, when they are back at the house and Bucky has unlaced his boots and washed his hands with enough force that one of them is in severe danger of rusting, “okay. Let’s recap. Can you tell me where we went wrong? Because I think I know where we went wrong.”

“I think it went fine,” says Steve, “actually.”

“It did not go fine,” says Bucky.

“It did!” says Steve. “It was fine!”

“I will tell you where we went wrong,” says Bucky. “ _I will tell you_. I will tell you _for free_.”

“Ooh,” says Steve. “You know how I love all that is free.”

“It is really very simple,” says Bucky. “What happened was, we tried to punch the coronavirus.”

“Uh huh,” says Steve. “Gosh darn it.”

Bucky sits down on the couch. It is such a good couch. The couch has never failed him; the couch is his friend. Steve plops himself down on the other end, puts his feet up on the coffee table. Bucky sighs.

“Actually,” says Steve, “Nazis. What we tried to punch were Nazis. And at that I think we were pretty successful.”

“Well,” says Bucky.

“Are you saying you regret it?” says Steve. “Do you regret punching the Nazis, Bucky?”

“Steve,” says Bucky.

“Do you wish for those Nazis to have been left unpunched?” says Steve.

“Steven,” says Bucky.

“James,” says Steve.

“I broke conditioning for this,” says Bucky. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it.”

“You are strong,” agrees Steve. “You are invincible.”

“I am going to go and deal with my bread,” says Bucky, and does.

His loaf is misshapen. Bucky prods at its poor, abandoned, over-proofed self; it sinks a little under the slight pressure, deflating with a sad little squeak. The bread, Bucky decides, is a Mood.

“Buck up,” says Bucky, to the bread.

He puts the loaf in the oven. He walks back over to the couch.

“So,” says Bucky.

“Hmm?” says Steve.

“ _So_ ,” says Bucky.

“That bread smells really good,” says Steve. “Honey oat, huh?”

“Steve,” says Bucky.

“I always thought that was just, y’know, for cereal,” says Steve, “but it smells nice. Yeasty. Bread-ish.”

“Steve,” says Bucky, “we are going to have to talk about this eventually.”

“Well, I dunno, Buck,” says Steve. “It’s your bread, I feel like you should get creative control.”

“I am extremely tired,” says Bucky.

“Aw,” says Steve.

Bucky sighs, again. He rubs at his forehead. It is a shame, he thinks, that he never got Natalia’s training. His own intelligence-gathering methods tend to involve more stabbing than is really practical in the present situation, and then he’d have to clean the couch.

He looks at Steve. Steve stares back, his chin lifted at a patriotic angle.

“Look,” says Bucky.

“I am looking,” says Steve. “You have flour on your face.”

“Are you always this exhausting,” says Bucky, “or is it just the brain damage talking? Be honest with me here.”

“I am, indeed, always this exhausting,” admits Steve.

“Good,” says Bucky. “That’s good to know.”

He drops his head into his hands. It’s not a bad place to be, really; he can look at the floor from here. It’s a nice floor, smooth. There are some interesting knots in the wood he’s never seen before. They’re probably worthy of some further study.

“I’m sorry, okay?” says Steve.

Bucky looks up.

“Say that again,” says Bucky.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” says Steve.

He’s wrapped his arms around his chest in what looks like the world’s least-satisfying comfort hug. His eyes are big limpid blue pools, which is obviously not in itself cause for concern, but. They’re not doing the thing, the Steve-thing, the butter-wouldn’t-melt, who-me-officer, paragon-of-virtue-with-one-lonely-braincell _thing_. They’re just – wide. And hurt. And kind of wet-looking, which is eleven different kinds of horrifying seeing as how the last time Steve had cried in Bucky’s presence it’d been at least partly because of all the helicarrier debris.

“Steve,” says Bucky.

“I know this is a lot,” says Steve. “I know this is – I’m sorry, alright? You’re so good at – _settling_ , and making calm space, and just. Being. I mean, just _doing things_ and _being a person,_ and. Here I am, being like. This.”

“ _Steve_ ,” says Bucky.

“You’d think I’d have learned by now,” says Steve. “How to live. In a new world. And not be able to – to fix it. To put it back somehow.”

Steve’s hands flex, and he looks down, and something twinges deep in Bucky’s chest.

“But I can’t,” says Steve. “I don’t know.”

Bucky swallows.

“Stevie,” he says. “Come on.”

Steve looks up. He unfolds his arms: slowly, slowly. Folds his hands together in his lap. Looks at Bucky, and Bucky takes a breath.

There’s silence, for a long moment.

“I’m supposed to be the well-adjusted one,” says Steve, mournfully, and Bucky laughs so hard he falls off the couch.

“Since when,” howls Bucky, from the floor. “Since _fucking_ when, Steven?”

“I don’t know, Bucky!” says Steve. “Since a buncha Nazis _literally fried your brain_ for the _better half of the twentieth century_?”

“So _what_ ,” says Bucky, “so _what_? So now I only got two braincells left alive instead of four, and so? _You_ crashed a _plane_ into a _glacier_.”

“Fuck you,” says Steve. “Fuck you!”

“Language,” says Bucky.

“Up yours, James Buchanan,” says Steve.

“I cannot believe you,” says Bucky. “You think I’m _well-adjusted_? You think I’m doing this shit because I’m _self-actualised_? I’m _tired_ , Steven! This is me trying to _take a vacation_!”

“You what,” says Steve.

Bucky sighs.

“Look,” says Bucky, sitting up. He grabs his latest book from the coffee table and shakes it in Steve’s face: real close, so he gets the picture, even if his tiny infant brain still hasn’t mastered object permanence. “This? This is depression. The Netflix is depression. The tweeting is depression. The tomato plants? Also depression.”

“Oh,” says Steve. “Um. The, uh, the bread?”

“The bread is depression as well,” says Bucky.

“Oh,” says Steve. “Well. Your depression smells real good, Buck.”

“Shut up,” says Bucky.

“I think I’m incapable,” says Steve.

“I am trying to convey a thing here,” says Bucky. “I am trying to – look, I’m tired, alright? I haven’t had control over my life since the thirties and that thought? Depressing as fuck. The world is depressing as fuck. I am not trying to fix things because I know I cannot fix things because guess what, Steve, _you cannot punch the coronavirus_ , and aside from that I am all out of marketable skills. I am aware of this because I am intelligent. And yet this awareness is?”

“Depressing as fuck?” says Steve.

“That’s right,” says Bucky, “it is depressing as fuck.”

“Do I get a gold star,” says Steve.

“You get bread,” says Bucky.

“Acceptable,” says Steve.

“I bake because I can,” says Bucky. “Okay? I bake because that’s what I can do. I haven’t got any power here: what the fuck ever, fine. I’ve never had any power anyway.”

“Bucky,” says Steve.

“But I can make this thing,” says Bucky. “I can make this – one good thing. I just want a good thing, Steve. I wanna make it with my hands.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” says Steve.

Bucky gets back up on the couch. Steve’s still looking at him, this soft-sad look. Full of something: _love_ , that’s what it is. This stupid fucking meatball’s full of love. Bucky gets it. He gets it. It’s fucking annoying but he does.

“You make good things,” says Steve. “You do. You’re – doing good.”

“I know,” says Bucky. “So are you, okay? So are you.”

“Yeah?” says Steve.

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “You can do more and you’re doing more. That’s good. You can help and you’re helping. That’s good. You’re a pain in my fucking ass, but I’ll learn to live with it.”

“Jerk,” says Steve.

“Sure,” says Bucky.

“I can’t fix it, though,” says Steve. “I keep trying but I _can’t_. It _sucks_ , Bucky.”

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “Fuckin’ world.”

Steve huffs. He scoots closer, lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder. His head is very heavy, which makes sense considering his supernaturally thick skull. His hair is very soft. Super Hair. Bucky pets at it, just a little. 

“You keep working, Steve,” says Bucky. “You do what you can. It’s gonna be alright. It’ll be alright.”

His shoulder’s getting kind of damp where it’s got Steve’s face mashed into it. It’s fine; Bucky never liked this t-shirt anyway. Come to think of it, it’s probably Steve’s.

Bucky shuts his eyes, lets his head flop back against the couch. Takes a deep breath in. That bread really is starting to smell pretty good.

“Hey, Buck,” says Steve, slightly muffled by Bucky’s bicep.

“Yeah, Stevie?” says Bucky.

“D’you think,” says Steve, “d’you think you could set up a twitter for me?”

Bucky tips his head back and _laughs_.

“Sure, Steve,” he says. “Sure. I can do that.”

***

**Steven G. Rogers** @Cap  
What we are facing is not a problem for any one person to solve. It is a crisis that demands that we stand together; that we fight for one another; that we act in solidarity and compassion to ensure that even the most vulnerable among us will not be left to struggle alone. (2/4)

**Steven G. Rogers** @Cap  
It’s hard to realise that there are some things about the world we cannot just fix. It’s hard to feel powerless. I, personally, have found this very difficult. But, as @buckybarnes reminded me this afternoon, we can still do good. We can do our best, and give what we can. (3/4) 

**Steven G. Rogers** @Cap  
And it is for these reasons that I am now declaring my candidacy for President of the United States. (4/4)

**sergeant america (nee pepper)** @buckybarnes  
.

**sergeant america (nee pepper)** @buckybarnes  
okay that’s it. i give up.


End file.
